23
Sep (Sun) Equinox! First day of
autumn! Cloudy when I got up but it cleared off except over the park. Cold
& frosty. ◦◦◦◦◦ We had pancakes and finished the chicken stew. It was
lookin’ fairly fair in the weather department so decided to carry an axe to
Kennedy Canyon and get that tree across the trail (been there all summer). Jan
rode Redtop, me on Pal. ◦◦◦◦◦ We’d just gone through the gate when we ran into the
most remarkable backpacker I’ve ever met—which is saying something. A young
guy, early 20s, dark-complected; looked like he had some Indian in him but
couldn’t tell if Asian or American. He seemed entirely at ease, like someone
who really knew his way around the mountains. T-shirt under plaid button-up and
raggedy beige slacks. Strap-on, open-toed sandals;
no socks. He had a small, beat-up daypack with some stuff in it but the thing wasn’t
even half full; whatever it was looked about the size of a football. ◦◦◦◦◦ As
we rode up, without greetings, he commented on the horses and asked where we were going (beating me to my usual
ice-breaker). Without asking if I wanted to see his permit or waiting for me to, he took off his pack, got out a
slender wallet and pulled it out. I inquired where he was coming from.
“Crabtree.” (It’s a trailhead I’ve never even heard of, over near Pinecrest off
Highway 108. He had to tell me.) I asked where his camp was, assuming he was just
out on a day-hike. The kid wasn’t the talkative sort and it was plain he didn’t
want to be drilled. In fewest possible words he indicated this was no day-hike
and his destination was Twin Lakes. I said, “You mean, that’s all you’re carrying!?” ◦◦◦◦◦ “Uh-huh.” He
had a very calm demeanor, clear dark eyes with that far-seeing gaze; sensitive
mouth with thin lips. Very handsome. This young feller had come well over 30
miles, maybe more, and had another 20+ to go, over three passes, and was
heading into changing weather that could do anything. He admitted to having a
bivvy sack [bivouac sack—a water-proof
sleeping bag cover] to sleep in and said he’d been warm at night. (Even if it
was a light-weight one, carefully folded, it would’ve accounted for at least
half the bulk of what was in that tiny pack.) No pad. Obviously no coat or pile
pants, anything warm; he’d probably just wrap the sack around himself if it
rained or got cold. I doubt he had any cooking gear and hardly any food…perhaps
he was fasting. Or foraging. ◦◦◦◦◦ He tried to make light of the whole thing
and when I started to say, “You know, I’ve never
seen anyone traveling so light…”
he cut me off, saying that he knew what I meant, but didn’t offer further
explanation. In short order this stranger had displayed self-assurance, dignity,
and humility though little in the way of humor. To honor him, I stopped probing—he
plainly wasn’t keen to answer questions—and turned him loose with good luck
wishes. I’ve only rarely had an encounter with anyone who was so…unavailable. And he’d been in complete command
during our interaction; it was a bit unsettling. Jan and I were floored; as
soon as we got out of earshot she asked, “Is that guy for real?!” ◦◦◦◦◦ I was
intensely curious all day and kept thinking about little things I’d seen in
him, things he hadn’t said. We talked
about him a bunch. The notion of someone taking a long backcountry trip with no
sleeping bag or shelter during this, a risky time to be traveling,
weather-wise. Serious fortitude. And hiking in sandals! That fact alone would
make our encounter noteworthy. ◦◦◦◦◦ Rode up to Long Lakes where we had another
surprise: some pack of horse-riding swine had made camp on the shore of Upper
Long. They’d tied their stock to trees in the little shore-line meadows, leaving
them torn & frayed. Left behind a sack of trash, partly buried right by the trail (!?!?!) and committed other transgressions.
The ranger saw red…I stomped all around, growling, and found new travesties at
every turn. Of course, lots of cigarette butts scattered around. Such
degeneracy: why would they pack all
that stuff in on horseback, load the trash in a sack and then, instead of
putting that sack in an empty pannier, take the time & effort to dig a
shallow grave right by the trail and
shovel a little dirt on top? (It was only half-buried to begin with and of
course, critters had already scattered stuff.) I pray that some day I will
catch these sorts of losers before they
leave the scene of their crimes. ◦◦◦◦◦ Met two backpackers at the PCT [Pacific
Crest Trail] junction with map & compass out. They were obviously glad to
see us; coming from Leavitt Meadows, heading for Leavitt Lake, they’d gone off the
edge of their only topo and had been wandering around, lost and confused. Even
with the aid of compass and (I believe)
clear signing, they couldn’t tell north from south. (Had the map all turned
around when I first started trying to show them where they were.) ◦◦◦◦◦ This
encounter, following on the heels of mystery-man, and right after witnessing—once
again—just how much damage a few idiots can do, was quite a graphic commentary
on the range of capability and consciousness you find in our backcountry
travelers. The first was a modern-day John Muir…the latter, “innocents abroad.”
And I don’t know what to call those
others except more bad names. (Okay, done venting; time to just let that one
go….) ◦◦◦◦◦ Rode through Walker Meadows and cut over to the PCT. Skies darkening.
Then we found a buck’s remains…right
by the trail. Good lord. This was proving to be quite a day of surprises. Hunters
had hung it from a limb that was directly
over the trail (big pool of coagulated blood right in the tread) and dressed
it out, leaving skin and guts and severed limbs scattered about. And—for bad
measure—a tin can, an old coffeepot, and a beat-up pan. (People of this ilk always
leave something behind.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Up
into Kennedy Canyon, to the job-site. Really threatening now so we got right to
it: 12” lodgepole across the trail at chest height. Limbing and one cut, with
Jan helping drag slash, took 45 minutes. Couldn’t have moved the log without
Jan’s strong back; plus she cut out two saplings pinned underneath it (her
first axe work). ◦◦◦◦◦ Riding down, noticed an old sheepherder carving right
beside the trail. I’ve seen it many times but never checked it out. Could just
make out that it’d been carved in 1912, indicating that this stretch of trail—a
1970s contract job from when there was all this money to stitch the PCT
together—probably followed an old route across the crest. ◦◦◦◦◦ Incredible
purple sky with cobalt-blue hills to the east, whitened by intense hail in only
minutes. Missed us entirely. Lightning & thunder, even. Home at 6:00, just
in time—it started raining, hard, as we finished unsaddling. ◦◦◦◦◦ Mystery Man
had stopped by after we saw him—there was a note on the table: “Nice place you
have here, ranger. I see you like Hesse. [There were copies of Rosshalde and Steppenwolf in my bookcase.] Have you read Narcissus and Goldmund? I think it’s one of his best. See you again
sometime. Carl.” ◦◦◦◦◦ When Jan comes to visit, I make “the big bed” up in the
loft—two old mattresses side-by-side, covered with a tarp. What our strange
visitor didn’t know was that upstairs, out of sight under my pillow, was the
copy of Narcissus that I just
happened to be re-reading. (Carl may have climbed the ladder and peeked into
the dimly lit space but I seriously doubt
he rooted around and looked under my pillow….)
[Left in the morning—Jan had to go—but headed
right back into Piute the next day.]
25
Sep (Tue) Didn’t go to the office
again; no thanks. So just went to the store for more food and when I pulled
into the parking lot, there’s Mystery Man, hitching a ride out of town! ◦◦◦◦◦
He was talking to a fellow traveller on a bike when I walked over and offered
him a ride. (The guy on the bike was coming from the north coast, headed for
Virginia!) They continued chatting while I went in to buy some vegetables. ◦◦◦◦◦
Ended up taking Carl all the way to Sonora Pass, just so we could keep talking,
but also to see that stretch for the first time this year. Lots of questions
answered…he was much more talkative this time. ◦◦◦◦◦ He looks like a young J. Krishnamurti,
with that sort of dignity and charisma. He’s 27 but looks younger. From So-Cal
originally; lives in Oakland. Father a vet in Orange County. He’s a carpenter
who dislikes working for contractors so mostly works solo doing renovations and
interior work. He’s lived with “an older woman” for many years. She has severe
back problems; is an invalid and completely dependent on him. Carl, telling me
all this in frank terms, made it sound as if he was basically stuck with this
woman and felt he couldn’t just abandon her. (It sounded like he still cared
for/about her though maybe not so much as he had.) This coming from a guy who
is obviously free-spirited, independent, and a rebel to the core. Very
incongruous. ◦◦◦◦◦ Told him I was glad he’d felt comfortable going in the cabin
and poking around, knowing I’d be okay with that. I mentioned the note. (Many
people have left me notes like that, assuming it was normal to enter a ranger
station. Carl seemed more like one who would generally err on the side of
respecting privacy so it meant something that he’d chosen to come inside.) The
Hesse reference, kind of off-the-wall, had seemed mostly his way of
communicating that we had things in common and thought alike. “Yeah, I’ve read
a lot of Hesse. Almost every book of his in print.” And told him that, up in
the loft, under my pillow, was the copy of
Narcissus and Goldmund I was just then reading. He smiled, gazing off. ◦◦◦◦◦
My new friend explained that he doesn’t always travel so lightly; often goes on
trips with his dad and they carry sleeping bags, tent, food, the works. He squeaked
by this time; went out via Buckeye Canyon instead of Twin Lakes (saving a day’s
travel and two passes), but did get stormed on pretty good that night. For
sleeping, what he does is stuff his bivouac sack full of leaves or pine needles
and burrows on in. (That’s a new one;
but I wondered about all those creepy-crawlies that are in there, too.) Said he
didn’t want to tell me this the other day because “you were sitting tall on a
big horse and looked pretty official and I thought you maybe wouldn’t like me
scraping up the forest floor.” (He rehabs afterwards….) Oh, and this: he told
me that his bike was stashed in the bushes near his trailhead. He’d ridden from Oakland somehow and was
going to pedal home after hitching back to the bike. If somebody had given him
a ride, at least out of the city, he didn’t mention it. Wow. I was tempted to
take him the rest of the way but not in the green rig [Forest Service truck].
(We aren’t even allowed to pick up hitch-hikers, ahem.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Well, we had us a
good talk. Finally saw his charming smile. I didn’t get around to asking if
he’d brought any food or was foraging. Lots of common ground, idealistically,
which we hardly got into as it was obvious to us both that we’re outsiders.
Like me, he’s not a “joiner.” Surprised to be told that Carl likes living in a big city, explaining
how he felt like he could always be totally anonymous, practically invisible, which
was appealing. He likes taking long walks with a little daypack for the added
challenge and soul-recharge value—the same reason I climb without ropes or
gear. It was a memorable meeting. We’ll probably cross paths again and perhaps
I won’t like him so much if we were to get better acquainted—he’s hard and
fiery, a real oddball—but I felt really drawn to him and, as always, it was
pure pleasure to run into one of the brotherhood.
I never saw Carl again and have always
felt it as a genuine loss—in the following years, every season, I always expected
him to just show up at the cabin one day. Still feel amazement; it’s not often
that you meet someone truly remarkable. There’s so many things we would’ve
enjoyed talking about. Almost 25 years later I still wonder who he became,
where he might be now.
©2014
Tim Forsell 9 Dec 2014
